Forsaken Island

by Sharon Hinck

  “No.” I breathed the word, half argument, half prayer. Clouds thickened around me, and I found myself standing outside the massive tree again. Daygrass tickled my bare feet. A kernel of hope, of realization, sprouted in my heart. “You love them too much. I know that. You won’t forsake them. You have a plan.”

  I felt a smile as large as the ocean as His love rolled over me. “When the time is best, I will walk among them again and free them from their lies.”

  My hope bloomed. He would banish the Gardener. He would rescue His people. “Thank You for showing me. But I still don’t understand why You brought me here.”

  “Will you prepare the way? When the harbinger arrives, the Gardener’s evil can be squelched instead of given free rein, but there will be a cost.”

  Every part of my being that loved Him, loved His tenderness, His power, His justice, every open-eyed fragment of my soul swelled to answer, “Yes!” I longed to give Him some small gift to thank Him for making me, freeing me, loving me. No matter the cost, I embraced this request.

  “But how? What do You want me to do?”

  Even as I asked, I sensed the deep quiet. As He had before, He offered silence to my chittering questions.

  The weight of the calling pressed against my shoulders. Even the air grew heavy and still. I squinted at the forest. The light was no longer fresh and dappled. Shadows lurked once again, opposing the dawn. Even the birdsong rang flat and sour. I was no longer in the beautiful time before, but squarely back in the present moment of the troubled world.

  I turned to reenter the hollow tree and reclaim my pack. My first step drew a gasp from my lungs. My ankle buckled, and I fell. I stretched my leg out and stared in disbelief. The tattered bandage once again bound my wound. Each beat of my heart pressed a line of flame deeply through my tendon, as if the High Saltar had sliced it only moments ago. I gritted my teeth to hold back a moan, but my soul screamed.

  No! He’d shown me the beauty and perfection of what this world could be . . . of what I could be. Having seen that, I didn’t want to come back. I didn’t want to limp through this broken place with my broken body.

  A breath of compassion swirled around me. He understood. And one day, all the beauty and healing I’d glimpsed would be permanent. In the meantime, He was faithful. He was with me. That was enough. I brushed away a tear and drew a deep, determined breath.

  “Did you be learning more understanding?” Chanic’s voice warbled from where she hunched near a huddle of reeds. “I never could be convincing others to remember. Most aren’t recollecting the tree is here.”

  I looked up at her and nodded. She’d indeed given me a gift by leading me to this place. I crawled a few paces until I could reach my staff, then used it to ease to my feet. “Yes, thank you.”

  “So you’ll be going back to where you came from then?”

  I lifted my chin. “Not yet.”

  Chanic led me through underbrush. The thick, fetid air squeezed my lungs. Branches scratched my arms as if they knew my purpose and wished to stop me. The glimpse of this world in the time before had exhilarated me. The reminder of who I was made to be had filled me like a deep, contented sigh. Yet it had all been some sort of vision, and here I was back in the reality of tangled woods, lost people, and a wounded body. I almost welcomed the sting of thorns for the distraction it provided.

  Distraction. I shook my head. No, I couldn’t hide there. In some way, each village on this island had embraced a life of distraction, of obsession, of anything that would disconnect them from the Maker and each other. A corrupted version of His original intent for their interests and gifts.

  Chanic’s cottage came into view. In the daylight, the shingled walls flaked like peeling skin, and the roof sagged to one side. Chanic was already struggling for each step, leaning heavily on her two canes. What a pair we were.

  “I wish I had more liniment for you.”

  Her head drooped forward again, but she twisted her chin to the side to show me a faint smile. “Not to worry. Mayhap I be finding a young one to journey to the red village for me. Though I be having little to trade.”

  “On my way through your village, I’ll look for someone to come visit you.”

  She snorted. “As if any can be bothered. Especially with the Grand Convening so close at hand.”

  There it was again. The Grand Convening that Morra had mentioned. What made this one special beyond a normal convening?

  Before I could ask, she waved away the bitterness in her voice. “Even if ’tis hopeless, ’tis kind of you to be trying to find someone to help me. Where will you go next?”

  Where, indeed? How could I fulfill the Maker’s call to prepare the way for Him? Did He want me to wander the entire island? How was I to reach all the scattered villages? So many questions, but one begged for an answer more than the others. “What happens at the Grand Convening?”

  She shuffled to her doorway. “Surely you be knowing. The Every gather.” As she lifted her twisted hands, sorrow threaded her words. “All but the unable.”

  “You mean all the villages go to the lake at the same time?”

  “Once per year.” She drew a wheezing breath. “It be a marvelous sight.”

  I helped her into her cottage and tended her fire. “What will your village do if you become too weak to care for yourself?”

  Her whole face puckered with sourness. “They be skilled at forgetting. I only be desiring that the vines are gentle as they consume me and draw me into the earth.”

  I shuddered. If that was the best she could hope for, this was a dark land, indeed. I took her hands between mine. “When that time comes, I know One who has not forgotten you. He will gather you into His arms.”

  Even though my commission was urgent, I took time to tell her about the Maker and some of the vision He’d just shown me. Her eyes lit with wonder and gratitude, and I hoped my future conversations would be as welcome.

  After leaving Chanic, I headed up the path toward the village as fast as my bad leg would allow. If the Grand Convening gathered all the peoples of this world, it would give me a place to recount what I’d seen in the tree of remembering. A means to prepare the way, as the Maker asked. And a place to find Brantley once again. He’d surely come with the red village folk. I’d ride my pony to—

  My steps quickened. What if Plexia had set the pony free and it had wandered back to the red village? How would I make the journey to the lake then?

  Emerging from the woods, I drew a steadying breath. Windrider grazed leisurely behind Plexia’s home. I hurried to the pony and hugged her neck, breathing in the reassuring scent of dusty mane and sweaty flanks. My rabbiting pulse slowed, worries abated—at least on that score.

  I found Plexia and politely used her talking tool to thank her for directing me to Chanic. I tried to relay my experiences at the tree, but she brushed me aside, still angry with me for raising disruptive ideas. I encountered similar responses as I moved through the village. I did find one youth who was willing to visit Chanic and bring her supplies. Perhaps Chanic would be able to convince him to barter for liniment from the red village. I longed to ease her pain. But the best way to help her was to help the entire island. To do exactly what the Maker had asked of me.

  I spoke to each man or woman who would listen and told them what He’d revealed. Stiff backs, cold shoulders, and gruff rejections answered my efforts. By the end of the day, discouragement pulsed through me as sharply as the ache in my damaged tendon. By the time the subsun lowered behind the trees, I’d offended everyone in the village and couldn’t find a place to rest for the night. Dejected, I returned to Windrider and led her into the cover of the woods. The overgrowth made me nervous. Even though the Gardener might be leashed, I’d felt the tangle of darkness that sometimes flowed through the plants on parts of the island beyond the lake. But I was exhausted and needed to rest. With a few well-placed branches and my cloak, I built a small shelter and kindled a campfire. I roasted several persea and chewed hand
fuls of berries from the prolific local bushes. Warming my hands in the glow stirred memories of traveling with Brantley back on Meriel. Only here I didn’t have his capable company. Instead, I drew comfort from Windrider’s gentle snuffles and her occasional stomps or shudders to flick an insect from her skin.

  My time in the village today had proven I was inadequate to the Maker’s task. Not one person listened to me. I didn’t expect my rhetorical skills to improve in a matter of days. And there was the Gardener. He possessed powers to stop me I didn’t yet know how to oppose.

  As my tiny fire shrank to crackling embers, I hugged my arms and shivered.

  “Make me strong. But if You won’t make me strong, make me faithful.” I crawled under my shelter and slept.

  A breakfast of fruit and a few tubers pulled from the soft earth near my campsite fueled my enthusiasm for the new day. I tethered Windrider in a grassy patch with a clear stream and limped back into town. This time I didn’t try to convince anyone of the wrongness of the convenings. I didn’t attempt to explain the world’s history. I simply admired their contraptions, watched them work, and sometimes handed a gear or lever to a preoccupied inventor. My reward was a subtle softening of attitude, even a few smiles of acknowledgement. Feeling that I’d built a few bridges, at midday I returned to my campsite to seek the Maker’s guidance.

  His gentle stirring prompted me to travel to the lake. If I waited until the night before the Grand Convening, I’d be forced into an exhausting revel with the village and would offend others with my need to ride instead of walk to the lake. Better to use my pony while I could and wait at the lake. With relations at least moderately restored with some of the blue villagers, I mounted Windrider and rode.

  Eager to find a safe place to camp before dark, I urged my pony into a smooth canter. She tossed her mane and pricked her ears forward, enjoying the chance to stretch her legs as much as I once enjoyed challenging my muscles with a vigorous pattern. Her rolling gait reminded me of my childhood ride in Middlemost.

  Bracing my hands against her withers, I pulled both feet under me to crouch on her back. I had to shift my balance to let my good leg take all my weight but then was able to straighten and stand. With arms wide, the breeze of our passing washed across my body. I stretched my bad leg out behind me, holding the most beautiful line I could create. Our ride was a moment of worship, a time of celebrating the pure joy of movement, of life. The passing wind blew away my fear, my loneliness, my dread. My hair flew out behind, my tunic rippled, my muscles held strong and lithe. I’d faced the threat of death before. I would give myself to the Maker’s purpose, whatever the cost.

  The resolve carried me through the afternoon. But once the area of convening came into view, I hurried to build a small shelter to hide me from the lake. I’d be in place for the convening, ready to speak out—to shout if needed. I’d proclaim the truth. But there was no sense blundering into danger before it was necessary.

  I chose to forego a fire, since I didn’t want to draw attention to my hiding place on the edge of the woods. From behind boughs, I peered down the grassy crater toward the lake, watching for the skeletal figure who had caused so much damage to this world. When there was no sign of him, I felt a strange mix of disappointment and relief. Perhaps I’d traveled with Brantley too long, because a part of me itched for confrontation. Waiting—with the dread of the unknown outcome—seemed far worse than a rapid and decisive battle. No other villagers approached the lake, and eventually I slept.

  The next morning, I wandered to the trailhead leading to the red village. I’d been told that only a short time remained before the Grand Convening, but perhaps there was time to ride back and search out Brantley. I’d run the risk of being caught in their pre-convening activities, but anything would be better than this solitary waiting.

  After caring for Windrider, I prepared to mount. Just then, a voice spoke in my heart like a hand pressing against my chest. Stay.

  I looked heavenward. “Is that You?” Perhaps the word was just my own indecisiveness speaking. If I rode to the red village, I could ask Jalla how to make more liniment. My efforts would help Chanic. Helping a woman bent with a crippling illness was indeed a good reason to go.

  Stay.

  Surely the Maker didn’t want me to waste time lingering here when I could be useful elsewhere. Besides, I needed to learn how Brantley was faring. The Maker cared about him and would want me to look after him.

  Stay.

  This time, I breathed out in resignation. I could no longer deny the truth. This was the Maker’s voice. Every bit of my self-will clamored for action. “I don’t want to listen,” I whispered. If I were still caught up in His arms in the beautiful vision of this world’s creation, it would be easy to heed His voice. But I was back in the dust and thorns and confusion of the day. “Help me want to obey You.”

  I clung to the pony’s neck. It would be so easy to swing onto her back. Just one quick check of the situation in the red village. The temptation built. In my mind’s eye, I saw Brantley’s joyful recognition when he saw me, the ideas we would share. He’d worry about what the Maker had asked of me, but he’d be there to support me. I gazed down the path. Was it really so wrong to want a human ally?

  My conscience answered swiftly. Was it ever right to forsake the Maker to seek human aid instead? More simply, was it ever right to forsake the Maker?

  Before I could give in to the longing to set my own course, I stepped back, patted Windrider, and sent her trotting down the path toward her home without me.

  I hung on the sound of her hoofbeats until they faded into the distance. Part of me traveled with her. I dusted off my hands and plucked fruit for my breakfast, for the moment crowding out my doubts with busy activity.

  Because of the bounty of food in easy reach, my foraging didn’t use up much of the day. I set about weaving a mat for my small shelter and added more boughs to the slanted roof. As the subsun followed the primary into the sky, I limped to the lake and dared to dangle my feet in the rich, milky water. I missed Navar. Had she reached Meriel safely? Would she return? I spent the afternoon cutting reeds and trying to duplicate the whistle that Brantley used to call his stenella. Despite my efforts, I never managed to make a sound. As the sky darkened toward evening, so did my mood. I could have ridden to the red village and back by now. Where would the harm have been?

  Two more days and nights passed, and my attitude grew more sour. The third day, a squall blew in from over the rim trees. Rain pelted my shelter and revealed how unskilled I was at building. Water dripped onto my head and trickled down my hair. I emerged from the shelter, glaring up at the sky. I eased into the early steps of the leeward wind pattern, wincing as my damaged leg took weight. Eventually, the pain subsided enough for me to continue. The clouds scudded outward from above the lake, and the suns warmed my face again. Breathing hard, sweat coating my skin, I finished the pattern and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, not only had the rain blown far out to sea, but tiny flowers dotted the daygrass on the slope down to the lake. Blue, gold, coral. The blossoms winked at me, opening and closing as if breathing. I eased to my knees and watched. Soon the petals moved in and out more swiftly, until the hillside seemed to be covered in gossamer butterflies. Transfixed, I touched one of the fragile flowers. A comforting scent rose from the blossom, like the smell of freshly baked bresh, or a clean blanket pulled up to my chin at the end of a hard day of classes.

  As suddenly as they had appeared, the flowers vanished. Yet I knew I would carry the wonder of the experience for the rest of my days. The tiny blossoms, with an existence even briefer than daygrass, had spoken to me with more truth than any teacher of the Order ever had.

  This time of waiting no longer felt like a punishment or test of obedience, but a gracious gift. He was granting me time to know Him better, to rest, to prepare.

  As shadows lengthened, I limped back to my shelter. I’d had no glimpse of the Gardener. No other villagers had journeyed to the
lake. I no longer startled at every sound in the woods.

  As I settled, the thump of pounding hooves drew near. “Haw!” A shout carried across the valley. Branches rattled as a pony and rider crashed through underbrush and burst from one of the trailheads.

  At the sight of the pony and rider, I sprang to my feet and peered out from behind one of the trees beside my shelter. I’d learned enough to stay hidden until I knew whether a friend or foe was arriving.

  Energy rode through the man’s strong back. Both suns glinted off fair, tousled hair. I recognized him by the reckless gallop of his mount.

  Brantley.

  My heart swelled, and a grin spread across my face. He’d returned. No doubt looking for me. The days of loneliness and my fears about the task ahead all fell away. Help had arrived.

  He charged his pony down toward the water, then leapt from his back.

  “I’m here!” I waved my arms as I stepped from the woods to the edge of the grassy hill overlooking the lake.

  Shielding his eyes, he peered in my direction. I waited for a smile to light his face, for his feet to race to me, for him to scold me with warnings—revealing his concern.

  I limped down the incline, but he didn’t smile. He didn’t race toward me. He didn’t scold.

  He scowled. “Still around?”

  I locked my gaze on him and swallowed my disappointment as I joined him at the lakeshore. His leather vest held a ragged gash. A strip of cloth bound his upper leg over dark stains. Blood? I pressed my lips together. The competitions at the red village were more violent than I’d realized.

  Then I met his eyes. Still distant, still cold, but something more swirled in the sea-blue depths. Pain flickered there, the sort of confused pain of a youngling who burns his hand on a boiling kettle. His eyes cried out, what happened? How can this be?